Miles
The van screeches to an abrupt stop, jolting me awake from a fitful sleep. Where the Hell are we? Doc yanks open the doors to the back of the van. I can't speak but my eyes plead with him as he unstraps me from the chair. With strength surprising for his build he carries me from the van.
Looking up at this big grey building with glass-panelled walls, in drink in its contemporary exterior. Sleek and imperial, it could only be a government building or a hospital and something tells me it's the latter. I'm lead struggling through a side door, not the main door all the patients go through. I was right, it's a hospital.
Doc takes me into what looks like an ordinary clinic room. It's pure white. A long IV hangs from a bar stretching across above a padded bed. Doc takes a seat in a swivel chair by a desk in the corner in front of a computer. Here Doc just looks like a... well, like a doctor. Your average family GP. How can he keeps up those appearances? I kinda have to admire him for that. It's a scary thought to me even now that people who look entirely normal could be like Doc behind closed doors.
"Get in the fucking cupboard," he gets up from his computer and stalks over to me. By the scruff of my neck he shoves me into a large metal containment cupboard for medicine and the like. I'm thrust in so harshly that my body clanks off the metal floor, bruising my sides and tenderising my already destroyed torso. I hold back a whimper. "Make a noise and I'll kill you," he threatens with a hiss, yet I don't really see that happening. I'm not scared when he makes that threat, even though I know I should be terrified.
I watch through the crack between the doors at the sterile room, Doc flirting around adjusting things the most minuscule amount. He turns little jars of pills around so their inscriptions all face the same way. Straightens pictures that were already straight. Stacking papers in complete squares with sharp edges, not one out of place. Lining up his pencils. Maintaining total control.
Until he glances at the clock, gasps at the time and speaks hurriedly over the intercom. "W-Will Patient Number 432 please come to Examination Room 9," it sounds like a question but it isn't. He just stutters the order like a head chef with social anxiety.
Doc's voice is so strange, I've thought since I first heard it. It seems so flexible in terms of pitch, volume, dexterity, dynamics. Its cold, sly qualities are gone and the voice he uses with me is replaced by a pleasant chirp. The way his voice goes sounds like he should be smiling jovially, but instead on his face is a totally pained expression, wincing like someone just poured alcohol on a wound. When the door opens I nearly faint.
Doctor
Gah! Gah! I hate this. Fucking patients walking in and disrupting my day. Why do I even come here? I mean, I don't have anybody to impress and this entire experience just enrages me. Nobody's breathing down my neck to log hours here. It pays the bills though. And for pertaining new test subjects. When Miles's mum turned up a few months ago, telling about how her ailment stops her from being there for her son I knew I had the perfect new experiment. A child so psychologically damaged I can get him to do anything I say. Well, once he trusts me. I have to fight to barely contain my psychosis as the door opens to reveal one of my regular complainers - Er, I mean patients - Miss Vezza.
"How are you keeping?" I ask, smiling but it probably looks like a grin. There's a big difference between a grin and a smile my fellow psychos; remember that. It comes in handy.
"Oh, I'm alright doctor," she sounds so depressed it's concerning. "How have you been?"
"Oh... fine," I can feel my eye twitch. I hate small talk. Fucking useless, useless! If it were up to me she would be dead. And the receptionist who always brings me really really crap hot chocolate would be dead. And the stupid paediatric nurse who keeps asking me out to the ice skating rink would be dead. I just want everyone in the world reduced to lifeless husks before my eyes. If only. I can dream.
I listen to Miss V (I can't be bothered to learn her full name; why the fuck to people even have names? They're useless and stupid and an inconvenience. I haven't needed a name in years. People should just call you by your profession) tell me about her recent depression. A recent tragedy, apparently a friend of hers has gone missing and the inquiry is getting nowhere. Whatever, they'll probably turn up dead in a couple of days. She wants antidepressants. All her other doctors refuse to indulge her hypochondria - since it isn't actually depression, just grief - but I don't see the problem with it. It's fun watching one person swallow a cocktail of meds.
People trust doctors so much. She just smiles as I recommend her the prescription for the strongest, most lethal shit I can think of. Aside from that, she gossips to me. She's quite the talker and chats and chats and chats until I feel like tearing my eyeball out and stuffing them down her throat just to shut her up. She spends a few minutes telling me I am too skinny, and that I 'can't expect to take care of others if you don't take care of yourself' bullshit! In the end I'm more than eager to move her the fuck along.
"Actually, you don't have to go to the pharmacy," I smile at her, hoping this time it looks helpful and friendly. I can feel my eye and cheek twitching madly. I walk over to the cupboard and reach out, ready to get her these damn antidepressants. "I have what you need right he-"
Shit!
I snatch my hand back from the door handle. I nearly fucking opened the cupboard! What is wrong with me?! I need a second to collect myself, but I don't have one! I retract my hand immediately, as if I've just held it above a flaming candle. "Er, on second thought, it really is hospital policy to write out a proper prescription. Sorry,"
"Oh it's fine," she smiles, so naturally. So happily. If I hadn't gotten Miles she was next in line for my examination table. Although I do prefer children and male children to be exact, I also want to see what makes people like her tick. She's fascinating I must admit. But having two subjects is far too difficult to handle. I wouldn't be able to give them both enough attention.
I write her out the prescription, which I've been told I shouldn't do because I have such messy handwriting (I'm suppose to type it) and send her on her way, with a wave and another trademark smile. As soon as my door closes I barely have a second to calm myself before hear whimpering from the cupboard, so before I ask my next patient in I walk over to it and open the doors.
Miles is sobbing, hiccuping to keeps the tears in his eyes. I kneel down, my gaze softening. "Hey, what's wrong?" I peel the tape from his mouth.
"Doc!" He clutches my lab coat, and I blink. None of my subjects ever showed me this kind of affection before. "I knew her! She's Miss Vezza! She was my friend and I miss her so much Doc!" He wails like a child.
I am lost for what to do so I place my hand on his back, softly rubbing it to soothe my crying little experiment. What the hell is happening to me? I feel something in my chest, something fluttery. All I want to do is caress his cheek and hold him close to me until he stops crying. I want to run my hand through his hair. I want to hear him laugh and giggle as I hurl him through the air. I want all this, I want to comfort him and wipe his tears away. I want him to smile when he sees me.
But I just re-apply the tape, stand up and slam the door without looking at or talking to him. I walk over to my desk and harshly press the button on the intercom. "Will patient 528 please come to Examination Room 9,"
Miles
My feelings of defeat return when I see a random stranger walk through the door. It's anti-climactic after seeing Miss Vezza, someone so kind and gentle, who I could always trust. Who smells like cookies - and often has some stashed in her purse for me, brandishing that infectious smile. Then I realise, she's someone I know! She can get me out!
I watch intently as the randomer sits in the little plastic chair by Doc's desk. I'm trying not to think about him right now though. Miss Vezza is one of Doc's patients. I assume bringing me here wasn't a one time thing. All I need to do is bide my time until I can come again and get her attention!
I can't wait to get out of here. I miss my mum.
YOU ARE READING
An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)
Horror"Doc?" "Yes?" "Teach me to love you," A young boy, his view of normality shredded to pieces by the bleakness of his life, is kidnapped and kept captive by an insane doctor for experimentation and pleasure. It isn't long before the doomed souls fo...
